


Through the Looking Glass

by mysterytour



Category: Farscape
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate universe - minor characters are main characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 11:42:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18549082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysterytour/pseuds/mysterytour
Summary: Moya's pilot makes a choice that changes the course of history.





	1. 1.0 Prologue

Pilot had never wanted to kill anyone before, but here, in this moment, she wanted it more than she had ever wanted anything. 

Even more than she had wanted to fly. 

When the Peacekeepers came she was powerless to stop them. She was helpless to save the crew who had died with her title—her name—on their lips. The wonderful life she had had aboard Moya was erased in less than an arn, and now Pilot was alone. Now, it seemed as if that life was nothing more than a dream, that was slipping irretrievably further and further into the past. 

The weekens that followed had been hell.

‘I do not think,’ Pilot said, slowly, ‘that you understand the relationship between leviathan and Pilot. Torture me for the rest of your insignificant life, if you wish, but I will never betray Moya.’

‘Please understand that I am trying to help you.’ the Peacekeeper implored of her. He was standing so achingly close that she could easily brush him into the chasm below, if only she could reach out. He adorned his body in hard, synthetic material, red and black. It was meant to look imposing. In truth, it betrayed the frailty of his kind; unclothed, they were unable to do so much as maintain core temperature. Their brains were equally as feeble. 

It was absurd that he could make her so helpless. 

Pilot raised her head and forced herself to look the Peacekeeper in the eyes, ‘You murdered my crew. You—murdered them.’ when the words came out of her mouth she could scarcely keep the tears from her eyes.

The creature held out the palms of his hands in a gesture of compassion, ‘If I could have done anything to prevent it I would have done so, but I have no such power. Captain Crais has no more patience; if you do not cooperate he will kill you.’

Pilot had spent some twenty cycles in the company of Subaceans, among other species. She knew their mannerisms. The curious plasticity of their facial expressions. Lieutenant Valorek gave every appearance of caring, of compassion. 

Peacekeeeper lies. 

‘Moya is worthless to you without a pilot. You need me.’ She told him.

‘There are many of your kind who are desperate to take your place.’ The next words, he spoke in Pilot’s own language: ‘I have one at my disposal, this very moment, in the hangar of this ship. And he will do whatever I ask of him.’

Pilot froze. It was unthinkable. Unspeakable.

The Peacekeeper implored, ‘Moya will not be allowed to go free, you know this. When she awakens, will she find herself alone with this stranger, or will you be there to protect her?’

Pilot couldn’t bare to look at his face any more. She looked down into the into the flickering lights of the nexus below. ‘What do I have to do?’ She asked, heavily. Surely this was her lowest moment. 

But the worst was yet to come.


	2. 1.1 Premiere

‘Uh… live long and prosper?’ Those were the first words John Crichton spoke to Joolushko Toonai Fenta Hovalis. The first words Jool spoke to Crichton were as follows:

 

‘Say something useful or die.’ Jool let the empty threat hang between them for a few microts before turning back to her work. Her fingers moved with speed and elegance over the console; her mind sang and her heart roared like a furnace. Today was the solar day she either gained her freedom or died in unspeakable torment. She had never been so close to death; it was strange, because in all her cycles she had never felt so _alive_. Jool knew little about Peacekeeper technology and even less Leviathans, but she knew computers and she  _knew_ how to hack. Behind her, the hologram of Pilot conversed with the Subacean. Beside her, the grey woman tapped feverishly at her own console, but it was all background noise to Jool.

 

Behind them, the Subacean yelped in pain.

 

The firewall was coming down.

 

‘You’re into the control collar.’ The grey woman informed her. ‘I think… maybe we’re going to do it!’

 

The fourteen pins locked into Moya’s dermal layers had to be released one by one. If she frelled up the sequence, Moya or Pilot or both would die instantaneously, but Jool was flying on adrenaline and the terror that once paralysed her spurred her on. Her hair flared bright like a furnace.

 

And then, it happened. Jool shrieked and clapped her hands together. Chunks of hardware drifted across the view screen. ‘Oh my god, I did it!’

 

‘We’re free! Moya is free!’ Pilot cried. ‘Prepare for immediate Starburst!’

 

Jool gripped her console and looked across to the other woman, who held onto her own. As their eyes met and the floor lurched under them. Jool’s body sparked with energy. Her stomach rolled.

 

Then, just as quickly as it had begun, it was over. In the view screen—nothing but stars and empty space.

 

‘You did it!’ The grey woman breathed, embracing Jool like an old friend. ‘I’m Hubero.’

 

‘Joolusko Toonai Fenta Hovalis,’ Jool told her, casually, ‘but you can call me Jool, if you prefer.’

 

‘And I'm Spartacus.’ said a voice behind them.

 

The two women turned to the Subacean. He was wearing the most curious expression.

 

Pilot sighed, ‘I’ll deal with this.’

 

*

 

‘If you don't mind me asking, what were you in for?’ Jool panted. She had the Subacean’s ankles whilst Hubero had her arms under the armpits.

 

‘I left Nebari Prime without government permission.’ Hubero said. The Interon seemed to buy it. Hubero swallowed her relief. In spite of everything, she wasn’t much of a liar.

 

‘That’s weird. Why can’t you just come and go as you please?’

 

‘May I ask your species?’

 

‘I’m Interon. Have you heard of us?’

 

‘No. Have you heard of Nebari?’

 

‘Sorry. I’m in for… it’s a long story, and I mean literally. I was cryogenically frozen for twenty-odd cycles...’

 

Hubero gasped.

 

‘The compartment is above you now.’ Pilot interjected, ‘If the Peacekeepers retained any of your possessions that is where you will find them. Unfortunately, Moya will not be able to Starburst for several arns. Most of her systems relating to starburst propulsion have atrophied after cycles of inactivity, so I apologise if your freedom is shortlived.’

 

‘Thank you, Pilot.’ Hubero said.

 

Jool dropped dropped the Subecean’s legs heavily, leaving Hubris to drag John's body into the adjacent cell by herself. When she returned to the corridor she found Jool inspecting a dagger with a short, black blade.

 

‘This is the only thing up there that isn’t mine. Is it yours?’ Jool said, turning the dagger around in her hands.

 

‘No.’

 

‘Are you all right? You look ill.’

 

Hubero forced a smile. ‘I’ve been locked in a cell for more than a cycle, I suppose I’m a little out of shape; like Moya, I suppose.’

 

Jool shrugged, ‘Maybe your stuff is somewhere else.’

 

‘It probably got chucked away. I didn’t have anything of value.’

 

‘Oh. So the thing with the Subacean… pretty weird, huh?’

 

‘He seemed very disorientated. I don’t know what to make of his ship...’

 

‘It is highly unusual.’ Pilot said. ‘I’ve had the DRDs perform an inspection: no weapons, not even so much as a Hetch drive. I doubt it could reach escape velocity on anything much bigger than a moderately sized asteroid.’

 

Jool frowned, ‘Maybe it's a hobby craft. At home you can buy these kits and make them yourself. They're pretty basic, but sometimes it's nice to get back to basics, you know?’

 

‘I'm afraid I don’t.’ Hubero said.

 

‘And hydrogen fuel!’ Pilot gasped.

 

‘Maybe he stole it from a museum, or something.’ Jool continued, ‘My people haven't used combustion engines in millennia. Anyway, I think I’m gonna find something to eat. I am _starving_.’ And with that she disappeared down the corridor, leaving Hubero alone with the Subacean.

 

‘If you could perform a search for concealments, Moya and I would be quite grateful.’ Pilot said ‘Try to be thorough.’

 

*

 

Jool's heart was still riding the high from the battle; she couldn't keep the smile from her face as she followed the DRD to the galley. After the dark dread of the solar days leading up to the escape, she felt light enough to float. Delirious with joy. Death had been the expectation, but instead she walking the ship’s corridors as a free being. This was a moment that had to be shared. She commed Pilot,‘Hey, how are things going with the ship?’

 

‘Where to begin! We must all work very hard over the next few weekens, assuming we survive so long.’

 

‘I’ll do everything I can to help. Listen—when all this is over, would you mind taking me home? I know the co-ordinates, if that helps.’

 

‘We would be glad to, however we cannot return to charted space for the time being. And of course, I require comprehensive star charts…’

 

‘Oh… Never mind. Thanks, anyway.’ Jool couldn’t hide the disappointment in her voice.

 

The galley—at last. Jool started opening the cupboard doors. Empty. Empty. Empty. At last, she found a couple of wrinkled orange fruits. Jool sat crossed legged on the floor and sank her teeth into the flesh. After a cycle of food cubes it was the sweetest, juiciest fruit she had ever tasted. ‘You know, Pilot,’ she said, ‘it’s nice to speak to you after all this time.’

 

‘I am glad to speak with you, also. I thought we’d be passing messages forever...’ Pilot paused, ‘I also wanted to thank you for… doing what you did, to obtain the access codes. It took a great deal of courage.’

 

‘I’m glad you appreciate it. All the dentics in the observable universe won't get the taste out of my mouth.’ Jool made a face. As she did, she caught her reflection in the door. She was dirty and gaunt; sticky brown juice gathered at the corner of her mouth and made an ugly trail down her chin. Her hair, once a thick mass of tight curls was lank and greasy. Flame-red roots gave way to a brassy yellow. Suddenly ashamed, she wiped the juice away with the back of her hand and put the fruit back where she found it. ‘Um, Pilot, is there anything I can help you with?’

 

‘Not at present, although you should return to command. Crais’ retrieval squad may find us before we are able to Starburst.’

 

Jool stood up and wiped her mouth again. Her muscles felt so weak. ‘If they do… what happens?’

 

Pilot sighed, ‘We will perform evasive manoeuvres, once again. Perhaps we could conceal ourselves within the Oort cloud.’

 

‘But if it doesn’t work?’

 

‘Moya will not submit to Peacekeeper rule,’ Pilot said, surely, ‘and nor will I.’

 

*

Xhalax Sun powered down the prowler and waited. She had tucked herself into the leviathan's sensory blind spot, an area between the three sweeping arcs of the tail section hardly bigger than the prowler itself, before Starburst. A few motras to the left or right and the ship's Pilot would have seen her. She was still an outstanding Prowler pilot. These days she flew whatever the mission required; usually low profile civilian vessels, sometimes Marauders. It had been decades since she’d used a Prowler, but it still felt like coming home.

 

It made her skin crawl.

 

She retrieved the portable computer from behind her seat and broadcast her position.

 

And waited.

 

Sitting in the Prowler with the engines off and the air cooling and little else to do, Xhalax’ mind turned away from the mission. For a moment, the stillness of space seemed to permeate the cockpit. Although the leviathan was almost within touching distance Xhalax felt alone in the universe. She watched the stars without contemplating their beauty. Instead, she pictured an empty cosmos where the contemptible blight of civilisation had never come to pass. Imagined that she was truly alone, or better yet, non-existent.

 

The computer screen lit up. Two new files had been received: a video clip and a message. Xhalax read the message, watched the clip, read the message again and shook her head. Captain Crais was a maniac, everyone knew that. Impulsive. Delusional. He’d get himself killed, sooner or later. Sooner, hopefully. Tauvo Crais’ sloppy flying was the cause of the collision, that was plainly obvious. Even a semi-competent pilot could have avoided the stationary white pod (death pod!) with ease. A better Captain, one who hadn't been contaminated by love would have immediately removed the Officer from duty should he survive.

 

Bialar Crais was a joke and the universe remained _frelling hideous._

 

Xhalax selected the video file again, paused and zoomed in on the cockpit; the pilot was a Subacean male. Obviously not Peacekeeper. Xhalax grumbled.

 

The leviathan remained still, for now.

 

Now was the time to act.

 

_*_

 

When John came to he was completely naked, and the grey woman, Hubero, was watching him with a curious gleam in her eyes. He scrambled to cover himself. ‘What in the name of god did you do with my clothes?’

 

‘They’re right there, in the corner.’ Hubero pointed, ‘I was obliged to conduct a search to be sure you were unarmed.’

 

‘Please tell me you didn’t do a cavity search.' John said as he pulled up his underpants.

 

‘Pilot requested one, but I told her that she'd have to do it herself.’ Hubero smiled in a way that suggested she might not be joking.

 

‘I am _beyond_ delighted.’ John pulled his t-shirt over his head.

 

‘I am curious about your lack of translator microbes.’ She continued, ‘It is highly uncommon, even among my own people.’

 

‘I don't know what that means.’

 

‘When you arrived on board the DRD injected you with translator microbes, so that you may comprehend many languages without having to learn them.’

 

‘Right. Universal Translators. We don't have them where I come from.’

 

‘Where  _do_ you come from?’

 

‘Earth. You've probably never heard of it.’

 

‘Correct. And what _is_ your craft? My associate believes it to be a museum piece.’

 

John (now fully clothed) snorted, ‘It's cutting edge!'

 

‘It was not my intention to offend you.’

 

‘I have analysed the being's DNA,’ said a voice. John recognised it from the holographic...whatever, but this time it was coming from what looked like a comm badge from _Star Trek_ pinned to Hubero's tunic. ‘Either his kind are kin to Subaceans or the most incredible example of convergent evolution I've ever seen. John Crichton, how familiar are your with the ancestry of your species?’

 

‘Listen,' Crichton rubbed his eyes with his fingers, ‘maybe I should explain my situation: this morning I had breakfast, took a shower, went to work in space, fell through a—I can't believe I'm saying this—a wormhole and found myself in the middle of a space fire fight in what may not be the same galaxy where I last took a piss. Before today the furthest anyone has ever been from my planet was the moon.’

 

Hubero tilted her head, ‘Of your birth planet? How fascinating.’

 

‘If makes you feel any better,’ Pilot interjected, ‘from what I understand of wormholes it is likely that you _are_ in the same galaxy. Networks are usually localised to some degree.’

 

‘That is a _little_ comforting.’

 

‘And if I understand your circumstances correctly you don't even understand what kind of ship you're on, let alone our current situation.’

 

‘Nope.’

 

'This ship is leviathan, a living being named Moya, and I am her Pilot. You may refer to me as such.’ The voice said, proudly.

 

‘Right. Okay. Farpoint Station. Tin Man. I can get my head around this.’

 

‘Drawing familiar comparisons can aid comprehension.’ Pilot said, curtly, ‘She and her current inhabitants were imprisoned by beings superficially like yourself, called Peacekeepers. You arrived as we made our escape. We were hoping you could help us.’

 

John held out his hands, ‘Sorry to disappoint.’

 

‘We knew you were a long shot, but it was worth taking, nonetheless.’ Pilot said. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I have many duties to attend to.’

 

‘So how about letting me out of this cell?’

 

Hubero watched John for a few moments and touched a pad next to the cell door, which slipped open with a hiss. John stepped outside and looked around. ‘I must apologise for your treatment. We are in a desperate situation.’

 

John shrugged, ‘It’s cool.’

 

She motioned for him to follow her.

 

What happened next was over in seconds. When they turned a corner John found himself face to face with what appeared to be a human woman. Before he could so much as open his mouth the woman punched him hard in the face and for the second time that day everything went black.

 

When John awoke on this occasion, he had a killer headache, his cheek smarted and his stomach ached with nausea. Luckily, this time, he was fully clothed. He found himself lying on his back with his hands bound behind him and digging into his back and he was in a small, dark room. He struggled and found that his feet were bound, too. The walls were a similar texture and colour to the living ship. Natural light poured in through a narrow doorway, but there was something off about it. Like every creature that had ever walked on the Earth, John had only known the light of a single star. He was the first human being to find himself on another world and it wasn't one of the obvious candidates like Mars, it was some unknown planet in an entirely different solar system. And he was tied up. _Well_ , John thought, _that's one small step for man,_ _and_ _one giant headache for John Crichton_.

 

And there was a woman sitting on the floor at the far end of the room. She stank of old sweat and had a head of unkempt black hair. There was something, or perhaps something _lacking_ in her eyes that made him want to puke or run away. She had to be one of the Peacekeepers, because she looked human. She was sucking the gristle from small leg bone. Space chicken? When she was done she dropped the chewed up bone on the floor and retrieved a small capsule form her pocket, which she twisted open, carefully pouring out the contents onto the back of her hand. Which she then snorted.

 

One minute, John was eating cornflakes at his breakfast bar and the next, he was watching a space-woman do space-drugs. He tried to sit up, failed and coughed. The woman continued to ignore him.

 

‘If you were hoping for a ransom you're gonna be disappointed.’ John said, trying not to let his voice shake, ‘I don't have any friends this side of the universe.’

 

‘Ransom?’ The woman said.

 

‘You must have kidnapped me for a reason. I’m John. Crichton. I’m from this little place called Earth you wouldn’t have heard of it and what I’m trying to say is, I don’t know anyone here. I’m of no value to you and also please don’t kill me.’

 

The woman scowled, ‘You have been convicted for the grievous injury and attempted murder of Officer Tauvo Crais, _brother,_ ' she hissed it like it was a dirty word, ‘of Captain Bialar Crais. I won’t kill you, but he certainly will.’

 

‘Wait… the guy who clipped my wing? I tried to get out of his way but my head was still spinning and—’

 

‘I  _know_.’ The woman gave him a patronising look.

 

‘If you know really happened can't you tell—whoever that guy is? I didn't do anything wrong...’

 

The woman rose and strode towards him ‘"I didn't do anything wrong"?’ She sneered, grabbing him by the throat. ‘I don't know what cushy backwater planet you came from but it doesn't matter what you did. The only thing that means anything is what Captain Crais thinks he saw.’ She threw him against the wall with the strength of a bear and exited the room. John on his shoulder. Hard. His brain felt as if it had blitzed into soup and was now sloshing about in his skull. He wretched uselessly and lay there, on the floor, for how long he wasn’t sure. When the woman returned she cut the cord binding his ankles and hauled him to his feet.

 

‘Wait, don’t...’

 

The woman ignored him and pushed him out into the light and onto a staircase. John stumbled as they descended onto the surface of the planet. They appeared to be on the outskirts of a dirty, rundown city. John looked around and blinked in the sunlight. There to greet him was a man with a serious face and a goatee, as well as five other people in bulky armour.

 

The woman thrust Crichton forward, painfully twisting his arm.

 

‘Commander Xhalax Sun reporting, sir. This is the pilot of the vessel that attacked your brother. He calls himself John Crichton.’

 

The man nodded ‘I can see that. And the leviathan?’

 

‘Nearby and unable to Starburst. Her recapture will be swift.’

 

Crais approached John and looked him dead in the eye. ‘Tell me, what planet are you from, John Crichton?’

 

‘Earth—you wouldn't know it. Listen, what happened, it was an accident. I didn’t mean to…’

 

‘An accident? My brother is near death because of your actions. You deliberately obstructed his flight path for nefarious reasons I can only begin to… I'm sorry, am I boring you?’

 

Silence.

 

‘No sir.’

 

Crichton was surprised, and terrified, to hear the Peacekeeper’s voice shake.

 

‘Perhaps I imagined you rolling your eyes?’

 

Xhalax didn't answer.

 

Crais clicked his tongue, ‘Unfortunately for you, Commander, I had time to read your file before my arrival. It seems that you have what I can only describe as a breath-taking history of insubordination.’

 

‘Sir, that was a long—’

 

‘I feel compelled to do what your superiors have failed to do for too long...’

 

‘But I have given my life to service...’

 

‘As do all Peacekeepers. I declare you Irreversibly Contaminated, as you should have been decades ago. Guards—’

 

John felt himself dragged sharply backwards, up the steps as Xhalax opened fire on the delegation. ‘I gave everything! Everything!’ She howled, continuing to fire even after Crais was hurried into an alley by his guards.

 

John had already been pulled half way up the steps before he managed to get his footing, he fell one more time before the peacekeeper yanked him through the doorway and tossed him to the ground.

 

Xhalax took her station, muttering, ‘That feeble-minded drenstain, I’ll frelling kill him, and his brother...’ as the craft rose sharply into the air. She hailed the leviathan. ‘Ship’s Pilot, I have John Crichton and your transport pod.’

 

‘And I have your prowler.’ Pilot responded, ‘An excellent trade, from my perspective. Apologies, John Crichton, but this is to be our goodbye—’

 

‘If you can Starburst away then do it.’ Xhalax said. Pilot didn’t reply. ‘Do you think you can out manoeuvre a Command Carrier? I can.’

 

‘And why would you do that?'

 

‘Captain Crais frelled me over. I wish to repay him in kind.’

 

Pilot sighed, ‘What choice do any of us have? Deploying docking web… now.’

 

 

When the doors opened, the prisoners and a host of DRDs were there to greet them.

 

‘Surrender your weapons, Peacekeeper garbage.’ Jool spat, clumsily waving a pulse pistol in Xhalax’ direction.

 

Xhalax Sun dropped her rifle. Her eyes sparked with a challenge, John noted.

 

‘And the rest of them.’

 

Xhalax pulled a stiletto from her sleeve and a pistol from her boot.

 

‘Now kick them towards me.’

 

‘I do not need weaponry to harm a creature so soft.’ Xhalax smirked.

 

Jool glared. ‘When this is over I’ll show you soft.’

 

*

 

When they reached Command, Crais’ sweat-stained face filled the view screen. His eyes bulged. Again, John felt like throwing up. ‘Leviathan, if you come quietly and relinquish John Crichton to my custody your punishment will be lenient. Otherwise…’ He let the threat hang between them.

 

Xhalax swooped upon the console at the far end of the room gripped the protruding joystick. She met Crais’ eyes with a hate, ‘Is your brother still alive, Crais? I hope he’s in _unimaginable_ pain.’

 

Crais' expression remained unchanged. ‘It was an oversight that you were even permitted to be born, Sun, you are far too weak minded to be of use to anyone—’

 

‘Frag cannons charging.’ Pilot reported.

 

Crais’ profile was replaced by an image of the planet and the command carrier accelerating towards them.

 

‘Planet-born dirt-lover!’ Xhalax hissed, and yanked the joystick hammond side, treblin, and hammond again as the Frag Cannons moved to anticipate her trajectory. The ship shuddered and swerved sharply to the left. The ship juddered violently on impact. Behind her, John Crichton was writing on the floor, but Xhalax saw nothing but the Command Carrier and the spectre of Crais’ visage, heard nothing but her own voice. The ship juddered, again. ‘I need more agility!’

 

‘I can give you no more,’ Pilot said, flatly, ‘and Moya can take no more. Do something.’

 

‘I’m doing everything I can!’

 

‘Guys—I’ve got it.’ John yelled from behind, ‘I’ve done the equations—Pilot, have you heard of a slingshot manoeuvre?’

 

‘Thank you for your suggestion, John, but this is an emergency—’

 

‘I know it works! Let me explain...’

 

Xhalax tuned them both out and narrowly missed a Frag pulse. The leviathan’s propulsion was shot, no doubt by cycles of abuse and inactivity. Xhalax swore. She despised Crais for ruining her life and ruining her only means of escape. If the ship exploded at least it would be quick, and at least she would have died in battle instead of OD-ing on some street narcotic which was, up until this microt, the most likely thing to kill her.

 

‘Relinquish your station, Peacekeeper.’ the pilot said.

 

‘Why? Do you wish for death?’

 

‘Step aside; John Crichton has an idea, which is better than whatever it is you’re trying.’

 

Xhalax snarled as John took her place, and directed the ship towards the planet. What was he trying? The ship skimmed the planet’s atmosphere and swung around, into the clear darkness of space, leaving the Command Carrier far behind.

 

‘We’re getting away!’ Pilot exclaimed.

 

‘The power of mathematics, everybody!’ John Crichton said.

 

Xhalax clenched her fists. It was a fluke that this idea had happened to work. John Crichton was nothing but accident after accident. The crew turned there attention to her, faces filled with contempt, except for John Crichton, who looked delighted and bewildered in equal measure.

 

‘What do we do with  _that_?’ Jool said.

 

Pilot said, ‘As much as I’d like to see what happens to a Peacekeeper in the vacuum of space, she did attempt to save us, if only for her own reasons. Do what was done to us—take her to the cells.’

 

Jool pointed her pistol at Xhalax, who complied, though no one on board could possibly threaten her.

 

*

 

The alien from the hologram was seated behind a console at the end of a long walkway, which stretched over a very deep chasm. John did not otherwise have any issues with heights, but that walkway made him nervous.

 

‘Don't be afraid.’ She said, sternly.

 

John made his way towards her, trying not to look down. The walk from the door to the console was long enough to make it awkward. Pilot's visage was even more imposing in the flesh. She has four arms and was at least six foot tall, and John suspected that even more of her sank far below the walkway.

 

‘Wow. You are just… wow.’ Was all he could say. Pilot seemed pleased for a moment before regaining her resolve.

 

‘Are you a criminal, John Crichton? A bandit?’

 

John held up his hands, ‘Nope. Not even as much as a parking ticket.’

 

Pilot’s resolve remained unbroken. ‘What Hubero and Joolushko Toonai Fenta Hovalis are capable of I do not know. As for the Peacekeeper I know _precisely_ what she is capable of…’

 

John approached the console. ‘She definitely has the murder-eyes.’

 

‘All Peacekeepers are murderers, but you're right—the eyes of a killer are unmistakable.’ Pilot observed, ‘Be truthful, John Crichton, where do your loyalties lie?’

 

‘I'm guessing they need to be with you.’

 

‘Correct.’

 

‘What about your loyalties? You were ready to leave me high and dry less than an hour ago.’

 

Pilot pondered the question. ‘As I am her protector Moya is my priority, above all else. _You_ understand.’

 

‘OK, sure.’

 

‘If you look after this ship, she will look after you. As will I.'

 

‘Yes, Ma'am.’

 

‘I would appreciate your word, if it means anything.’

 

‘Sure; you have my word.’

 

‘Good. You should get some rest. There is a great deal of work to be done.’

 

‘I will. Thanks.’ John took that as his cue to leave. As he left, he wondered how he could possibly get used to any of this.

 

*

 

For the first time in her life, Xhalax did not know what to do. In a few microts her life’s work had been erased and she was alone in a cell on leviathan prison transport. There would be no more orders or missions. No more feigning respect soft-handed idiots like Crais. Xhalax had grown accustomed to her work as a bounty hunter, but she had always and relentlessly despised it. For much of her adult life it had been her only purpose. What now?

 

The cell's security features were extremely basic. There was a bare pallet for her to sleep on and a bucket next to it, presumably intended for bodily functions. The red woman had not searched Xhalax properly, so she was left with a single charge pulse weapon in the toe of her boot and a stiletto imbedded under the skin of her forearm. Even without them and even with the DRD stationed outside the door it would be easy to escape.

 

But what would be the point?

 

Xhalax sat on the edge of her pallet. The living ship was quieter any Peacekeeper vessel, which only drew more attention to the sounds it was making. The low, continuous throbbing of the engines. The gurgling limbic system. Suddenly feeling the weight of her boots, Xhalax pulled them off and tossed them one after the other to the centre of the room. How weary were her muscles, how heavy her eyelids. She listened for footsteps, and on hearing nothing, finally allowed herself to lie down.

 

 _It’s over_ , she thought, staring at the vaulted ceiling, _I’m_ _finally_ _free._

  


 

 

 

 


End file.
